Monday, November 19, 2012

The Progression of a Stomach Virus

At bedtime on Friday night, Steve and I were informed by Brigid that she wanted to dance before bed.

So, we put in the Disney Princess CD we stole from my mother the last time we were in Indiana, and off she went. These are Brigid's ballet moves, by the way. You can't see her ballet shoes in this picture, but she has them on. She's also on her toes, with her arms above her head, spinning until she falls over. She's quite graceful, this child of mine...

Brigid went to sleep relatively easily (by her current standards, anyway), but she was up again at 1AM, asking for her daddy. Steve went in to try to calm her down, but she wasn't having any of that. She kept telling us her stomach hurt, her throat hurt, she wasn't tired, etc. She has a list of ailments, that kid, and she won't stop running through them until we give in to whatever it is she's asking for. None of those things on her list ever turn out to be anything more than an attempt to stall at bedtime, however, so we generally ignore her.

Except...she was up again fifteen minutes later. And then twenty minutes after that. Always with the fake crying, and the 'my belly hurts', and the not wanting to sleep. And I started getting mad, because COME ON, KID! YOU MAY NOT BE TIRED. BUT WE ARE.

Then, around 2AM, the crying changed to something more shrill. And real. And I walked in to find that she had thrown up all over herself and her bed. So...apparently her stomach DID hurt this time?

Mother of the year, right here, huh?

Brigid went into the bathtub so Steve could hose her down, I stripped the sheets and did my first of 3-4 loads of vomit laundry, and Brigid and I set up a sleep-over on the floor. Because, for me, cleaning the carpet seemed like a better idea than remaking the bed a hundred times.

And at 4AM, someone was feeling surprisingly chipper after having thrown up twice in the last two hours.

Apparently, Brigid's way of fighting the sickness was just to fight sleep. because, if you don't go to sleep, you can't wake yourself up by vomiting. I'd say this was a smart move, but no sleep for Brigid meant no sleep for me, and no. Just...no.

She was also afraid that I'd sneak out of the room once she fell asleep, and she wasn't too excited to see that happen, either.

(It didn't happen, by the way. I stayed in there all night with her. And apparently, this was a shockingly big deal to her, because every time someone asks her who she slept with when she was sick, she replies, 'Mommy! And I woke up with her, too!' I honestly don't know whether this is a positive or negative commentary on my parenting skills...)

She woke up for good around 7:15, so we moved the slumber party to the couch. And Peyton replaced me as the guardian.

And then Brigid threw up again, and I was tired of washing nightgowns, so we made her put real clothes on.

And by noon, the night before had finally caught up to us. Not pictured here? Me passed out on the other end of the couch. Steve sent a SUPER flattering shot to his family of me and Brigid both sleeping, in which my stomach is hanging out of my shirt just as much as hers is, but since this is MY blog? It's not getting posted. I'm sure Steve will send it to you if you want to mock me relentlessly, however.

And then, just like that, she woke up later that afternoon, 95% back to normal. And now I'm 10% convinced that she faked it all just to get me to sleep on the floor with her.

(Ok, I'm not convinced of that. It was a legitimate illness. I think. But she IS an evil super-genius, so I wouldn't put anything past her, really...)